Dinner Can Wait
by The Irish Chauffeur
Summary: Tom and Sybil have returned to Downton Abbey, but they have no intention of conforming to the Rules of the House. This is a taster of my revised Magnum Opus - Home Is Where The Heart Is - which, if there is sufficient interest I may be tempted to post on here once again.


Dinner Can Wait

"I look and feel like a penguin" said Tom miserably.

With increasing impatience, and barely concealed annoyance, Sybil fiddled with what seemed to be a particularly recalcitrant earring. Over the last few months, as her pregnancy had slowly advanced, Sybil had found herself having to contend with its inevitable side effects. The travails of morning sickness, then swelling breasts - not that Tom seemed to mind that particular problem. Thereafter she experienced repeated head and back aches, along with a seemingly inexorable ballooning in the size of her belly, and, of course, the inevitable swollen ankles.

In addition, Sybil found her usual reserves of patience quickly exhausted by all manner of inconsequential, trifling things, which in normal circumstances would have not bothered her one iota. Such as the stubborn earring, which now claimed her full attention. Why would it not go in? At Tom's words, she looked up at the standing figure of her husband reflected in the mirror on her dressing table.

"No you don't Tom. But tell me anyway, just precisely how does a penguin feel?"

Tom shrugged.

"Search me. But next time I meet one waddling down Sackville Street, I'll be sure to ask it" he said and chuckled.

"Well, if anyone looks like a penguin, it's me!" Sybil glanced down at her swollen belly with mounting distaste. "Tom, darling, I surely can't get any larger, can I?"

"Probably" said Tom and winked broadly at his beautiful dark haired young wife.

"Why thank you Mr. Branson. I feel so much better for learning that! Tell me again. Just where it was that you qualified as a doctor?"

"Why, I thought you knew that already. At the Royal, in Dublin. On Upper Baggot Street", retorted Tom without the slightest hesitation. He laughed out aloud.

Finally having won the battle with her ear ring, Sybil grinned back at her husband, reflecting on how easy both she and Tom were in their exchanges with one another; so unlike the somewhat guarded responses which passed between her sisters and their beaux: Mary and Matthew even now that they were engaged, and between Edith and David Sinclair.

Of Edith's own volition, and perhaps also to prove to herself, if not just to her elder sister Mary, that she could indeed find herself a beau of her own age, shortly after their return from Ireland, Edith had finally decided it was time to cut loose for good from the elderly, infirm, and increasingly peevish Sir Anthony Strallan. The break was made easier by the fact that, if the truth be told, Edith had been more active in the pursuit of Sir Anthony than he of her; which, given his increasing infirmity, was hardly surprising.

When Edith returned in some distress from Locksley House to Downton and told her elder sister the news, Mary's response was characteristically pithy and to the point. The two sisters were taking tea in the Drawing Room.

"And not before time, if you ask me", said Mary sipping her tea. "Otherwise you'll be in a bath chair and as old as Strallan before ever you manage to find yourself a beau. After all, Edith, you have left it rather late".

When Edith demurred and replied that, she was not yet in her dotage, Mary continued with her terse observations as to how it was that she viewed her younger sister's present situation.

"Of course, it won't be easy for you, I mean, not being possessed of the same adventurous spirit as myself".

"And I'm sure Matthew just adores **that** side of your character", retorted Edith acerbically. "Personally speaking, I always find Turkish Delight rather indigestible".

Mary narrowed her eyes, grimaced, and pursed her lips. She did not intend to let Edith get the better of her.

"You do realise that the war has drastically diminished the field of acceptable suitors?"

Edith looked crestfallen. Seeing her sister's discomfort, Mary closed in for the kill.

"That being the case, you'll just have to settle for whoever happens to come along; assuming he is suitable of course. I doubt Papa and Mama would cope with a repetition of Sybil's nonsense. I wish you the very best of luck. In fact, I rather suspect that you'll need all the luck you can muster".

And with that parting shot, Mary breezed out of the Drawing Room in search of Matthew, leaving Edith to stick out her tongue at her elder sister's retreating form.

Now, several months later, to the utter amazement, it must be admitted, of grandmother, parents, and elder sister, Edith found herself being actively courted by the Honourable David Sinclair. A distant cousin of the family on their father's side, who had served with distinction in the Royal Flying Corps during the war, Edith had met David at a house party held at Glenrossie House, his parents' estate in the Scottish Highlands overlooking the valley of the Tay, not long after she and Mary had both returned from Dublin.

These days, Edith and David seemed well nigh inseparable, so much so that there was now, at least according to Edith, the very distinct possibility that she and the Honourable David would precede Mary and Matthew down the aisle in the marriage stakes. Not if Mary had any say in the matter, thought Sybil.

After all, while they were all growing up, Mary and Edith had always been archrivals. There was absolutely no way on this earth that Mary would allow herself to be up-staged by her younger and, in Mary's view, decidedly **plainer** , sister - already having been pipped at the proverbial post by Sybil and Tom.

Sybil looked up.

"Actually, my love, now you've recovered from being so seasick, you look very smart in your borrowed suit. Very smart indeed. And so ... handsome!"

"Is that supposed to make **me** feel any better?" Tom grinned, shamefaced.

Sybil smiled broadly and, still seated at her dressing table, half turned towards her husband.

"But of course! And, I was right, wasn't I?"  
"About what?" asked Tom.

" When I said that I thought that you and darling Matthew were about the same in height and build".

"That's just as well," said Tom. He grinned broadly. "Otherwise I'd have had no choice but to have gone down to dinner in one of my two everyday suits. Probably the brown one. After all, it is less worn than the grey. But only slightly so". Tom paused and grinned. "Mind you, Syb, I suppose I could have gone down to dinner in just my underwear".

"As long as you remembered your white bow tie, I don't suppose anyone would have noticed" said Sybil and giggled provocatively.

"Mind you, I don't think your father much liked your suggestion," said Tom.

"And just what suggestion was that?" asked Sybil. She sounded genuinely puzzled.

"Of me, appearing at dinner, wearing one of Matthew's old suits".

"Well, it seemed the only sensible solution. After all, granny was bound to make some comment about you being improperly dressed. But as for you appearing at the dinner table in just your underwear, well, Tom, I'd rather that you didn't".

"Why, because I might shock your grandmother, your mother, and your sisters?"

"No, not that especially".

Sybil got up from her dressing table and walked very deliberately over to where Tom was standing, turning this way and that, looking at his reflection in the full length mirror which stood in one corner of their bedroom.

"Because, Tom Branson ..." said Sybil sensuously. She placed her hands squarely on her husband's shoulders and gazed into the smouldering depths of his deep blue eyes. Tom looked at her quizzically. Sybil smiled to herself. Why, the very thought of Tom ... in just his underwear. She grinned broadly again. Or, Tom ... wearing nothing at all. Sybil felt her cheeks begin to redden.

"What then?" asked Tom, by now thoroughly mystified.

Sybil still said nothing.

Then, lacing her fingers together, gently she placed both of her hands firmly about the back of the neck of her handsome Irish husband, drew Tom's head slowly down towards hers, and finding his soft enticing lips kissed him gently. She kissed him again, this time more passionately than before. At that precise moment, a silent, private message passed between them. Slowly and inexorably, their kisses deepened, lengthened.

Still wrapped in each other's arms, with Sybil tugging at Tom's bow tie, giggling, kissing, entwined together, they stumbled slowly across the floor of the warm, lamp lit room towards the waiting bed. For some strange reason, on this occasion, Tom found the familiar scent of her perfume to be heady, almost intoxicating.

Having reached the bed, Tom allowed his wife to push him gently backwards, lowered himself slowly onto the mattress, and pulled Sybil down on top of him. Despite the bulk of her advancing pregnancy, she could see, could feel beneath her, how much he wanted her.

"Jaysus, Sybil, I love you so much", said Tom nuzzling his face against her neck.

"And I could never love anyone but you. I love you, my darling, so very, very much", responded Sybil running her hands through her husband's hair. Gently she reached forward and kissed the tip of Tom's nose. In turn, Tom softly kissed Sybil's forehead, then tightened his arms about her, pleasurably aware of her breasts now pressing hard against his chest. A moment later, and he felt his wife fumbling with the front of his trousers.

"Syb ... Sybil ...

"Hm?" Tom felt Sybil tugging his trousers down, exposing his underpants.

"Just ... what ... time ... did ... you say ... we ... have ... to be ... downstairs?"

"Why worry about that?" queried Sybil softly, the tip of her tongue gently probing Tom's lips. "Or is it … that you'd rather … be downstairs … instead of up here … in our bedroom … making love to your wife?"

"No, damn it, woman! Of course not".

"I'm very glad to hear it, Mr. Branson". He felt her soft breath caress his lips.

"Oh Jaysus … Sybil … love!" moaned Tom and gasped at what she did to him next.

It was some time later, in fact, long after Carson had sounded the dinner gong, when the two of them finally left their bedroom. As they came out onto the landing, Tom turned to Sybil, with a merry twinkle sparkling in his blue eyes.

"You know, love, before we got, er ..." Tom blushed. "… so distracted in there, you never did finish telling me why it was you didn't want me appearing at your parents' dining table wearing nothing but my underwear. If it wasn't that it would shock your family, then what was your reason?"

"Oh, didn't I say?" asked Sybil with feigned innocence. She grinned mischievously at Tom, and her grin quickly broadened into a wide smile.

"No, you know you didn't, you little minx" laughed Tom catching hold of his wife.

"Well, Mr. Branson, it's just ..."

"Just what?"

"That I happen to be a very possessive wife" said Sybil and giggled.

"So I've noticed" said Tom, and laughed again, as arm in arm they went slowly down the elegant main staircase of Downton Abbey and into dinner.


End file.
